


Are we there yet?

by Capsicle



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: First Meeting, Friendship, Platonic Relationships, Road Trip, Triumvirate, basically just fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 03:26:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13402455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capsicle/pseuds/Capsicle
Summary: Combeferre just wanted to find some people to share his car with, to account for the gas costs of his travel from his tiny southern home town to Paris.He did not expect to meet the two most amazing people in the world on this trip, bond over book fairs and activism and then get stuck in the worst car jam anyone of them ever witnessed.But hey, all roads lead to Paris, right?





	Are we there yet?

Combeferre had been up for almost two hours and it was still far too early for his liking. The sun having decided to properly show up between the trees on the right side of the road might have been a nice touch, but didn’t really help since the bright light was dazzling and causing him to squint his eyes more often than he preferred, especially driving down a motorway with 120 kilometres per hour.

… 

It had been around five, when he had finally managed to crawl out of his bed like the devil out of hell and stumbled into the kitchen to brew his first cup of coffee. After that he had still cursed the early hour and his determination to leave as soon as possible to avoid driving on overly crammed streets. At least he had minimised the possibility to fall back into bed, forget about his damned prudence and just sleep on for another five hours.

After having gathered the last few things he needed for his journey, verifying one final time that he definitely packed everything and filling both of his thermal flasks with coffee, he had loaded his car – not that he had that much baggage to begin with – and hit the road. That he completely forgot to have some breakfast struck him only half an hour later, when he had just gotten used to being driving.

Another twenty minutes and a cheap sandwich from the gas station later, he headed for an exit and soon after that, he stopped the car in front of a cold, grey concrete block that seemed to fulfil the function of a railway building. He was early, but he didn’t have to wait long, until a few people – probably all passengers of the only slow train stopping in a village like this at 7:13 in the morning – left the building.  
He saw two families with small children, a gentleman in his fifties, two elderly women, a teenage girl wearing headphones and a sorely annoyed expression, and finally a young man about his age or even a bit younger. His sight made him crank down the window on the passenger’s side and lean out of the car to wave at him.

The rather tall, blond guy lifted a hand as a greeting and made his way over to Combeferre’s car, dragging an old-looking trolley bag behind him.

“Hello”, he greeted as soon as he was close enough. “Are you Combeferre by any chance?”

“Indeed”, he answered. “So you must be Enjolras. Did I pronounce it correctly? I wasn’t sure about the ‘s’.”

“Yes, no worries. As much as I may despise living in a narrow-minded southern village, I prefer their pronunciation of my name.” 

The line had been delivered with significantly more force than necessary, at least as far as Combeferre was concerned, so he didn’t elaborate on it and instead got out of the car to help Enjolras to place his suitcase in the car boot.

“So, you’re visiting Paris?”, Combeferre asked, after Enjolras had sat down in the passenger seat and they rolled out of the train station’s car park.

“Yes.” 

Great. There wasn’t much you could do with that answer. Not that Combeferre was particularly keen on small talk this early in the morning, but he also didn’t want to seem rude.  
But as Enjolras raised his voice about a minute later and after after clearing his throat a bit awkwardly, to say “And you too? Holiday?”, Combeferre figured, that the other one was feeling just about the same right now.

“Somehow, yes”, he answered simply. “Do you maybe want some coffee?” 

He was focusing on the road, but he could feel Enjolras’ grateful gaze on him.

…

Another hour later, they pulled off the road for another exit. It had been a quiet hour, but not uncomfortably quiet anymore.

Enjolras shot him a glance from the side: “Why are we driving off?”

“We’re going to pick up someone else”, explained Combeferre. “He applied yesterday.”

It had been on very short notice, but honestly, Combeferre was glad to have yet another passenger. Even though that didn’t change the slightly nervous curiosity to meet a guy who spontaneously decided to travel to Paris without apparently any planning whatsoever. He also hadn’t paid in advance, like Enjolras had, so Combeferre was a bit anxious if he would show up at all.

He didn’t share his concern with Enjolras though, just traversed the little town on search for the station and then stopped the car at the side of the road.

The atmosphere felt like a déjà vu of the small town where he picked up Enjolras an hour ago. A village, pretty run-down – at least here, in the station quarter – the streets empty and quiet, even if it wasn’t that early anymore.  
It probably wouldn’t take long before an old slow train or a tram would make its way into the small station building, just to vomit a bunch of people from the tiniest villages around. The more or less centrally habituated motorway town was probably seen as a kind of cultural centre.

So they waited, gaze fixed on the tracks to instantly be able to spot arriving trains. Only there weren’t any arriving trains in the next ten minutes.

They shared the rest of the coffee from the first can in quiet agreement, getting more tense with every passing minute. But still there was no train, not even after they had waited for about half an hour, and even if they had been quite early to begin with, now it was getting worrisome. 

Combeferre felt how Enjolras grew more and more impatient next to him and he knew that now he was in the uncomfortable position now to decide if it was appropriate to leave.

Five minutes later – Enjolras had just now begun to nervously shift around in his seat as if he was being chased by someone and had to make a quick leave – Combeferre decided to show his sense of diplomacy in carefully asking Enjolras if it was alright for them to quit the waiting. He had assumed that he would be all about leaving and considering the fact that he himself had questioned the reliability of travelling mate number two from the beginning, he was on his passenger’s side.

Unexpectedly, Enjolras granted the unknown passenger “a few more minutes, in case the train is late or something”, which may have sounded like he had to force himself to get it out, but Combeferre was surprised by his generosity anyway.

Another ten minutes later though, he started the motor of the car. At the same moment, a bicycle turned into their road – which perhaps would have sounded uninteresting, hadn’t it actually been the biggest event since they had turned up here.

The cyclist, a mediterranean-looking boy in sandals and shorts with a wild mess of curly brown hair, frantically jumped off his vehicle, leant it at the next best tree and locked it. Then he grabbed the sport bag from the rack and sprinted towards them. Combeferre turned off the motor and cranked the window down.

“Hey!” the cyclist waved at them and jogged over, a big smile on his face. “Are you Combeferre?”

“Yes”, he answered, as soon as the boy was close enough so he didn’t have to scream anymore. “And that is Enjolras, the other passenger.”

“Hi! I’m Courfeyrac!” 

He leant through the window to kiss Combeferre on both cheeks in a greeting manner and then complicatedly reached out his hand to Enjolras, who was too far away for a kiss, never stopping the constant smiling for a second.

“I’m so sorry for being late!”, he said after shaking Enjolras’ hand. “The train was cancelled so I had to take the bike.” 

Despite the smile, he looked earnestly sheepish and Combeferre knew he would have forgiven him instantly even if it hadn’t been the train’s fault.

“It’s alright, no worries”, he said in a tone that hopefully sounded reassuring. “I hope it’s fine if you settle down in the back for now?”

“Sure!” 

An instant later, Courfeyrac had crawled onto the back seat, pushing his small bag into the boot and buckling up on the middle seat. “Let’s go!”

… 

Even if the sun had risen hours ago, it was as if daybreak had only happened just now with Courfeyrac not granting them a minute of silence in the car. It was not even unpleasant, he just talked and asked questions and listened and was all in all such enjoyable company that Combeferre and Enjolras soon found themselves chatting and laughing and sharing childhood stories as well.  
Combeferre was actually surprised by himself; he normally wasn’t even one of the extremely tight-lipped type, but he also usually needed some time to warm up to people.  
But seemingly, Courfeyrac just naturally did the warming up part by himself. It felt just like having a little sun in his car.

“Oh dear, I almost forgot to pay you!”, blurted the person in question out in this moment, interrupting his own sentence midway. 

He fished something out of his pocket and leaned forward to offer Combeferre the widest smile he had ever seen on a person, as well as a crumpled five euro note and a handful of coins. Combeferre didn’t bother to count them.

“I can’t believe I haven’t even asked you why you’re going to Paris!”, Courfeyrac then proceeded to socialise. “Are you visiting family? Or just for fun?”

“For fun fits the best, I think”, Combeferre responded. “I’m going to visit a book fair.” 

Enjolras’ head shot up: “Really? Me too!”

“That’s cool!”, Courfeyrac commented. “I didn’t know there’ll be one, maybe I’ll visit it too. I like books.”

“Well, it’s technically not a mere book fair”, Enjolras began elucidating. “It has political and social activist backgrounds, it just so happens that many journalists and writers will be there, presenting their works regarding that topic.”

“Have you been there before?”, Combeferre asked, hopeful to hear more about what exactly would be expecting him the next two days. 

Unexpectedly, Enjolras just shook his head.

“No. I wanted to go since I was twelve, but my parents never let me.”

“Oh really?”, Courfeyrac chimed in. “So it’s a big thing? Should I feel bad for never having heard about it?”

“It really isn’t”, Combeferre answered. “I must say, I’m also surprised. I only found out about it because I have been invited to come.” 

As soon as these words left his mouth, he regretted it already. He hadn’t meant to brag about it, but he plainly hadn’t expected the two of them to care about his travel plans at all so suddenly talking about it had taken him by surprise. He just hoped that they wouldn’t enlarge upon that topic.

“Wait, who invited you?”, Enjolras immediately asked. 

Combeferre should have expected it. He awkwardly cleared his throat. 

“One of the organisers. I kind of published an essay about civil rights on the internet, and… well…” 

He met Enjolras’ almost awestruck gaze and turned back to intensely focus on the road ahead of him. 

“Can I read it?”

“It’s no big deal, really.” 

He wouldn’t be so shy about this, if he didn’t feel slightly guilty that he had been discovered instead of an actual journalist, who put way more work into his project than Combeferre, who couldn’t sleep one night because of a discriminating article he read and then typed out his opinion in a fit of anger.

But of course Enjolras couldn’t just let it go. 

“But can I read it?”, he asked again, and Combeferre shrugged acquiescently. 

“Well, I am in no place to stop you.”

“I mean right now”, Enjolras insisted. “Can you send me a link or something?”

Combeferre could barely suppress a light chuckle at his enthusiasm. 

“Sure, let us just wait for the next lay-by, you know, don’t text and drive.”

… 

They didn’t stop until they passed the next motorway service because Courfeyrac was hungry and Combeferre really needed to answer the call of nature after all that coffee. Courfeyrac and Enjolras then switched places, so that the latter could read peacefully on the back seat (Combeferre was beginning to fear the young man’s serious enthusiasm a bit).

Courfeyrac leant back into the passenger seat and shot Combeferre a cheeky grin. Combeferre briefly smiled back, then focused on the road. He could feel Courfeyrac’s gaze pierce into his side and when he turned back to his now co-driver, his grin still hadn’t faded. He had two endearing dimples, Combeferre noticed, and when a smile reached his eyes, a set of tiny crinkles appeared around them. It was far too charming for Combeferre to be bewildered by his constant stare.

“What is it?”, he asked.

“So you’re an activist?”, came the counter question.

“Well… no. I mean, perhaps a bit? There are a lot of things I want to change, worldwide and also in society. But I never arrived at the point of being actually able to do more than writing for a blog to keep people informed of what is going on in the world.”

“That’s actually quite a lot, already.”

“I wish I could do more. But you know how it is, tiny village, not a lot of people with me on that matter.”

“I get it. I am kind of the president of our local LGBT club and well, it would be really cool if said club didn’t only consist of three people, plus the weirdos who show up sometimes only to make fun of us. Most people just don’t care, it makes me sad sometimes. Same with politics, about half of the people don’t even bother to go to elections.”

“Word!”, Enjolras chimed in from the back seat, raising his sight from the screen of his phone for the first time in minutes. “It is so frustrating!”

“Living in a tiny little backwater can be terrible”, exclaimed Courfeyrac with a dramatic hand gesture. “I mean, I also love it most of the time, it’s calm and you know everyone and random grannies bake cookies for you on Christmas, but I will probably be admitted into the town chronicles as 'the gay guy' because that’s the only thing people know about me.”

There was a quiet sound of approval from the back seat. 

“I know that feeling, I mean, my town isn't even that small, but as the son of the mayor I experience the exact same thing.”

“I don’t envy you!”, Courfeyrac laughed. 

Enjolras only scoffed and it sounded way more bitter than the previous conversation. The mood shift was seemingly also perceived by Courfeyrac who, as Combeferre could see from the corner of his eye, turned around to earnestly ask: “You okay?”

Enjolras was quiet for about a second too long. 

“Sure, sorry”, he then answered.

“Hey, don’t worry, you’re an adult now, it’s not that your parents can dictate your life! Also, you can always move away to study or something!”

“Actually.” Enjolras sounded way more animated again. “That’s my second reason for travelling to Paris. I’m planning to study there and I want to look at a possible flat.”

“How the hell did you manage to find an affordable flat in Paris, I’ve been looking for months!”

“Well…”, Combeferre couldn’t see if he blushed but his voice sounded like he definitely did.

“Anyway, so we’re probably going to be able to meet up in Paris, that’s so cool! Because I am gonna study there, even if it ends up with me living under a bridge!”

“You could theoretically move in with me”, Enjolras mumbled more or less to himself but it was barely audible under the sound of Courfeyrac excitedly bouncing in his seat and tugging on Combeferre’s sleeve to ask him: “So what about you? Are you coming with us to Paris? That would be so amazing, you two are probably already the greatest people I’ve ever met except for my brother’s fiancée maybe, she’s awesome!”

Combeferre, while being absolutely smitten but also overwhelmed by the other’s pure excitement, couldn’t stop himself from responding with a “Well, it’s not that easy, you know”, which, in retrospect, sounded more sour than he intended and the last thing he wanted to do was to ruin the mood, so he quickly added: “I mean, I haven’t really decided what to study yet. After school, I took a year off to help out in a primary school – my mother knows the director and they had a severe shortage of teachers that time – but that didn’t bring me much closer to deciding what I want to do and they still haven’t really got enough staff so I thought I could maybe just continue doing that.” 

He stopped and pretended having to focus on the road, to not spill the beans on how his mother desperately wanted him to “get out of the town sometimes” and “have some adventures”, while she knew very well that they did not have the money for him to extensively do so. Paris sounded amazing, but also like a dream he shouldn’t transform into an expectation.

“I think you should study medicine”, Courfeyrac once again interrupted his thoughts.

“Ah?”, Combeferre was way more irritated than he would ever like to admit.

“You’re so calm and patient, I’m sure you would make a great doctor!”

“Thanks.” Combeferre cleared his throat. “Funnily enough, that’s exactly what my mum always says to me.”

“You could always start studying the next summer semester.” 

Courfeyrac beamed at him and Combeferre couldn’t prevent a warm smile from slipping onto his face. At the moment, he felt like he might as well just do that.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> So, first of all: Thanks for reading!  
> Second of all: This will be a threepart story, so if you liked it, stay tuned for more. I originally planned to write the whole thing and then upload it at one go but due to the conveniently placed [Triumvirate week](https://the-triumvirate-week.tumblr.com/) I decided to do it like this.  
> Third of all: Thank you so much [Milynya](https://milynya.tumblr.com/) for beta reading this!!  
> Feel free to talk to me on [Tumblr](https://we-want-a-shrubbery.tumblr.com/), if you're up to it and have a nice day!


End file.
